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208 to be so cynical. . . . Tell me, Gerrit, why do you pretend to be so cynical?"

"I?"

"Yes, you: why do you do it? You're putting it on, aren't you, on purpose?"

"Purpose be blowed! . . . If you think I'm going to be taken in by all your pretty speeches! . . . If you come to me with pretty speeches, it's because you want money and I've . . . . I've told you, I haven't any. . . ."

"But, Gerrit, I don't ask you for money . . . and I'm not getting any from you either. . . ."

He flushed, a deep glow overspreading his red, sunburnt face and the white neck on which the tight collar of his uniform had left a plainly-visible line. What she said was quite true: she asked for no money and he gave her no money. He had none to give her.

"Now let me tell you," she said, nestling still closer against his knees. "You see, in Paris, towards the end, I got the blues badly. . . . You understand, Gerrit, don't you, one has enough of the life sometimes . . . and a fit like that isn't very cheerful?"

"Oh, rot!" he said, gruffly. "And you, who are always laughing!"

"I'm always laughing?"

"Yes, you, with those eyes of yours, those eyes which are always laughing."